


The Queen

by FrankenSpine



Series: Scarytales [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Basically a creepypasta, Creepy, Gen, One Shot, Plot Twists, reupload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 23:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20236297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankenSpine/pseuds/FrankenSpine
Summary: 11 year-old Henry feels unloved and unwanted by his parents, Emma and Neal, so after moving into a new house, he encounters a being who calls herself ‘The Queen’, and is lured into another realm with promises of love and comfort.*Re-upload under my new pseud.*





	The Queen

Henry sighed heavily as he stared out the window— well, not so much out the window, but rather, at the tiny droplets of rain that slid along the chilled glass. It was almost like watching paint dry. The only thing that made it even _remotely_ entertaining was seeing the big droplet ‘eat’ the smaller ones. Beyond the window of the yellow Volkswagen was a seemingly-endless forest. At long last, they reached the town line, where an old wooden sign stood. It read _Welcome to Storybrooke._

_What a stupid name,_ Henry thought, but then again, he was just upset because he was moving away from the city, and away from his friends. He didn’t _want_ new friends. He liked the ones he already had, though now he felt like he no longer had them. It wasn’t like any of them would want to come and visit a dump like this, much less _live_ here.

After what felt like an eternity of driving through the winding backroads of Maine, they finally reached their new home, but to Henry, it felt like a prison. It was an old Victorian-esque house with dull, gray paint and white trim, all chipping away. It was as bleak as the cloudy sky overhead.

Somehow it was even worse on the inside. All the walls were white, save for the kitchen. The walls of the kitchen were an off-white, almost yellow, likely due to years of cigarette smoke tainting it. Otherwise, the whole place seemed sterile, like some kind of asylum. It was, for the lack of a better term, _depressing._

* * *

Hours passed, and Henry was finally done unpacking his things. He begged his parents to paint his room, just to make it a little less dismal, but they dismissed him, halfheartedly assuring him they’d do it another day. With a sigh, the boy headed back up to his new bedroom (which, in his mind, seemed more like a cell), and he went to the one window in the room. It was foggy, so he took his finger and drew a sad face in the condensation. There was something strange about that window, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

The one good thing about this day was that he got to have pizza for dinner and watch TV while he ate. Eventually, though, his parents made him go to bed, and he did so with yet another heavy sigh. He trudged up the creaky steps to his room, fearing the old boards would collapse beneath him and cause him to fall to his death.

He got to his room and quietly shut the door, flipping on the light before going to the window and pulling the curtains closed. He changed into his Spider-Man pajama pants and a simple gray t-shirt, tossing his clothes into the hamper as if throwing a basketball through a net.

He turned off the lights and tried to force himself to sleep, but the more he tried, the harder it became. Eventually, though, he began to drift into a deep slumber, only to be yanked right back into awareness when he heard the distinct _creak_ of his closet door.

He reluctantly peered over at the closet, feeling the sweat roll down his forehead as his heart pounded like thunder. He was eleven years-old. He shouldn’t have been worrying about any monsters in his closet, but something about this unnerved him. He hid himself away beneath the covers and tried to force himself to sleep again, but it was no use. He could hear the click of heels growing louder— _closer—_ but then it stopped, and he felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder. Then came the softest, sweetest voice he had ever heard.

_“Henry. Don’t be afraid, little one. I’ve come to help you.” _

It was the quiet murmur of a woman, and it comforted Henry enough that he felt he could trust her. When he pulled back the covers, however, what he saw was the furthest thing from human.

Sunken, yellow eyes, almost serpentine. Scaly, slimy black hide. Razor-sharp fangs. Long, ivory claws. A slender tail resembling that of a scorpion. A tall, bone-thin figure with an arched back. It was, without a doubt, the most horrific thing Henry had ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on.

Henry’s eyes widened as he saw this, and he started to scream, but then the creature’s hand came down over his mouth, effectively silencing him. He blinked, and suddenly, he found himself staring up into the concerned eyes of a beautiful brunette with a flowing, black dress that shimmered like the stars in the night sky. She cupped his face gently and offered a reassuring smile.

“You don’t have to be scared,” she rasped, “You don’t have to feel trapped, dear boy. Not with me.” She extended her hand to him. “Come,” she said softly, “Let me show you my world.”

Henry struggled to find his voice. “Y-Your _world?”_ he asked in a whisper.

The woman nodded, but said nothing. She just continued to hold out her hand, and so after a moment, Henry took it. Her skin was soft and smooth. Her touch comforted him. Her presence suddenly felt warm and inviting, rather than cold and scary. Henry climbed out of bed and walked with the woman, hand-in-hand, towards the dark closet.

“You live in my closet?”

“In short, yes,” said the brunette, “Your closet is a gateway to another realm. _My_ realm. I have been waiting for you, Henry.”

“How do you know my name?” the boy asked her.

She smiled warmly at him. “I know many things about you, dear boy.”

“Are you an angel?”

“Not quite,” said the woman, “I am the Queen.”

“The Queen? Of what?”

“Of my realm.”

“What’s your name? I mean, your _real_ one.”

“I haven’t got one.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one ever bothered to give me one.”

“Oh,” said Henry, “Well, what do you want me to call you?”

The Queen was quiet for a moment as she contemplated this. “I believe ‘Regina’ is Latin for _Queen,”_ she said, “so that is what I wish to be called.”

Henry smiled at her. “Okay, Regina.”

She squeezed his hand gently. “Come. My realm is just up ahead.”

They disappeared into the dark depths of the closet, far beyond his clothes and toys, and into a realm void of any and all light. Even then, Henry did not feel as though he was in danger. He did not feel afraid any longer. On the contrary, he felt completely safe, despite what he had seen just moments earlier.

“Regina?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, dear?”

“How come you looked different before?”

“Because the darkness often plays tricks on one’s mind,” Regina told him. She took a seat beside him and opened up her hand, summoning forth an orb of flickering, golden light. “But when you bring the light into the shadows, then all becomes clear.”

“So, you’re not gonna eat me?”

Regina let out a hearty laugh. “Of course not,” she assured, “I would never do anything to hurt you. I just need you to promise me one thing.”

“What is it?” asked Henry.

“Promise me you will never tell anyone about me. Not even your parents.”

“Okay,” said the boy, “I promise I won’t say anything.”

Regina smiled. “Wonderful,” she said, “Now then, what would you like to do? Anything you can dream, I can make it come true.”

Henry’s eyes widened in wonder. “How about a strawberry milkshake?” he asked. The moment those words left his lips, a milkshake in a Styrofoam cup appeared in his hand. He gaped at the Queen in awe. “This is so cool! Thanks, Regina!”

“You’re more than welcome, little one.”

* * *

Days went by, and Henry’s mood seemed to improve greatly. His parents were pleased to see him doing so well, though they each grew suspicious when they overheard him talking to someone in his room each night.

While he was out of his room one day, the two searched the place from top to bottom but found nothing. When he returned, they spoke with him about taking vitamins to help with his iron deficiency. He accepted this explanation and began taking the vitamins each day.

That was when Regina stopped coming to visit him. Fearing she had abandoned him, he would get out of his bed each night and sit in his closet, pleading with the Queen to come and take him to her realm, where nothing was impossible, unlike this dismal little world. She never answered his cries for help.

One night, after dinner, Henry was especially-tired, and so he forgot to take his vitamins. It was that night that the Queen returned to him, and just like the first time, he saw her for what she truly was, but then she touched his face and her form changed once more, all in the blink of an eye. Tears slipped down his pale cheeks as he sat up in his bed.

“Where _were_ you?” he rasped.

She cupped his face with both hands, murmuring softly, “I’m _so_ sorry, sweet one. It was those ‘vitamins’ of yours that kept me away. They didn’t want us to see each other anymore.”

Henry frowned. “Who didn’t? You mean my parents?”

“Henry,” the Queen said firmly, “You and I know full-well that those two are _not_ your parents.”

“What? But—”

“Think about it,” said Regina, “Have they ever treated you like their son? Or have they treated you like a prisoner? How often have you gotten to leave this horrid place? Why is there such a strict curfew? And the drugs. Of course, the drugs. They’re trying to keep us apart. They want us to be _alone.” _

Henry swallowed. “What are we gonna do?” he rasped.

Regina offered him her hand, and he didn’t hesitate to take it. She smiled softly. “We’re going to go to my realm,” she told him, “and we’re never coming back.”

And into the closet they went.

* * *

The next morning, the blonde nurse entered the patient’s room. “Alright, Henry, let’s—”

She froze when she saw that he was missing. She rushed to the window, thinking he had somehow escaped, but the bars were completely intact. She searched under the bed. Nothing. She searched the bathroom. Nothing. She even looked around inside the closet. It was empty, aside from some of his clothes and some boxes of old board games, comic books, and puzzles.

The nurse rushed out of the room, panicked. “Neal! Put the ward on lockdown! He’s gone!”

“Who’s gone?” asked the puzzled male nurse.

“Who do you think?! _Henry!”_

_ “Shit!” _

The asylum was put on lockdown and the entire property, both inside and out, was searched thoroughly by police and volunteers alike. The missing patient was never found.

Henry Daniel Mills, aged thirty-five, suffered from paranoid schizophrenia as well as a severe case of dissociative identity disorder. Taking him to the Storybrooke Psychiatric Hospital was the only way to keep him from hurting himself and others. He envisioned himself as a young boy, desperate to relive his childhood as he had been abused both physically and mentally while growing up, and most worrying of all, he spoke to people who weren’t really there. The only way to get him to take the lithium was by telling him it was vitamins for the iron deficiency he didn’t have.

It was rumored that if you went into the vacant room of Henry Mills at night, you would hear his joyful laughter coming from somewhere deep within the closet.


End file.
